


Heads Up

by perhael



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhael/pseuds/perhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not-so-coincidental meeting after years of separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a fair number of references to the movie "Rosencrantz &amp; Guildenstern Are Dead". While this story is absolutely readable if you haven't seen the movie in question, a few things might make more sense if you have.

Fate, Tim reflects, is a funny thing. Just when you least expect it, it comes back to bite you on the ass.

It was inevitable, of course, that they would meet again. You can't avoid someone when you're moving in the same circles, working with the same people, no matter how hard you try. Somewhere, some day, circumstances catch up with you and suddenly you're face to face with the last person you expected, or wanted, to see. It happens all the time, so the fact that it's happening to him shouldn't come as a great surprise. But somehow, it still does.

So Tim has come to London for a film shoot, doing three days on location. And out of the entire population of Britain's great capital, he just has to run into the one person who is, well, Gary Oldman.

Not that he hasn't considered it, of course. He's even toyed with the idea of paying him a visit, possibly, if the occasion arises.

Not that he'd do it, really. What would he say? "Hey Gaz, haven't seen you in a while, just thought I'd pop by. How've you been?"

He couldn't do it. The forced spontaneity, the bland lies. No need to ask, he knows exactly what Gary's been up to these past few years. He's followed it all on screen, in the newspapers, the magazines. Followed the films, the wives, the scandals. He still skims the papers looking for news of Gary, and whenever he finds something, even the tiniest tidbit, his heart does a little jump. He always forces himself to be casual about it, pretends it's nothing more than professional interest in a fellow actor.

But it isn't, and it never will be.

*

And now he finds himself face to face with Gary fucking Oldman, casually leaning against the make-up trailer, smoking a cigarette. Hair scruffy, lips quirked into an amused smile. Sizing him up.

"Digging the costume, mate. That wig has to be a bitch to glue on every morning."

Tim absently runs a hand through his curls, thinking that as far as opening lines go, this one is at least original, if nothing else.

"Why are you here?" he asks, feeling somehow outside of reality. The gravel under his feet, the smog in the air, it all seems surreal next to the reality of Gary, standing right in front of him.

"Must've been fate," Gary says, elegantly shrugging his shoulders.

"Fate." Tim replies, sceptically.

"Or maybe I just came to look you up," Gary admits.

Tim doesn't need this. He really, really doesn't need this.

"I… have to be on set," he says, lamely.

Gary's smile falters, but he recovers admirably.

"Sure. You wanna drop by later? I'm in town, staying at the Ritz."

Gary turns on his heel and walks away, the gravel crunching under his feet as he goes. And then he's gone, just like that.

How can he still have this effect on Tim, after all this time? Every time they meet, sparks are flying. They have chemistry. It's what makes them so good together on screen.

And off-screen, his traitorous brain reminds him.

Gary is handsome. He's aged magnificently, Tim thinks. His face is a bit soft around the edges, and there's gray in his hair, but he's still the most good-looking man Tim knows.

The Ritz... Tim knows he'll go, he can't not go. The future is set, and there is no changing it. Whatever coin he tosses now, it will come down heads up.

*

Tim enters the hotel bar, which turns out to be a brightly lit and airy establishment and not at all what he imagined. He spots Gary at the bar, twiddling his thumbs. He makes a nervous impression, and somehow that makes Tim feel good. As he approaches, Gary spots him and grins, beckoning him to take a bar stool.

"I wasn't sure you'd show up."

"Neither was I."

Tim orders a beer, warily eyeing Gary's drink. Gary grins wryly. "Don't worry, it's just a soda."

Tim can feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment, and it irritates him. He has a right to check.

"So… you've kicked it then? For good?"

He hates how hopeful that sounds, but he just wants to make sure.

Gary sighs. "I'd like to say yes, man. But I can't be a hundred percent sure. I mean, right now I'm thinking, never again. But it might change. Everything might change."

Tim understands, he thinks, but he still can't help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah," he manages.

So nothing's changed, really. Gary's still Gary, Tim's still Tim, and there's no reason why things should be different this time around. He'd known that, of course, but it still hurts.

Gary scrapes his throat, searching for words. "I, er, I heard you and Nikki were divorced recently."

"Yeah. She found some other guy."

"That's tough, mate."

Tim shrugs. "It happens. Bad luck with women, and all that."

Gary snorts. "Tell me about it."

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a while, sneaking furtive glances at one another, looking away quickly before their eyes can meet.

Gary laughs, then, a rough, choked sort of laugh.

"We were never this... awkward."

"No. We weren't."

And Tim remembers, their first shared glances, the winks, the easy camaraderie. It had been on the set of 'Meantime', though Gary had fancied himself straight at the time and had been reluctant to be persuaded otherwise.

They had really become involved during the shoot for 'Rosencrantz &amp; Guildenstern Are Dead'. Tim can remember the exact moment. They'd been lounging on the Player's cart between takes, legs dangling over the edge. Gary had caught him staring and had batted his lashes in a funny way, and Tim had found himself in love. It was pure exhilaration, the thrill of discovering a bit of yourself in someone else, knowing that they're seeing a bit of themselves in you.

They had touched lips, tentatively, wonderingly, and Gary had looked almost in character... sweet, naive, innocent Rosencrantz, and Tim had nearly felt bad for corrupting him. Nearly.

Gary downs his drink. "You want to go somewhere?"

"Go where?"

Gary shrugs. "Someplace. My room. Can't stand bars," he mutters.

Tim averts his eyes. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

And it's not his fault that Gary suddenly looks crestfallen, it really isn't.

"Why not?" It's nearly a whine, nearly a plea. And it nearly does him in, too.

Tim makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He doesn't want to be here, staring in the face of temptation, knowing it'll all end in a shambles, they're too scarred, too frightened.

They used to be so... happy, is the word he's thinking of. Crazy. Wild. They'd wanted to tell the world, scream it from the rooftops, "We are in love!". And they had, in their own way. Tim still grins whenever he remembers those photographs. **Tim Roth I think you are sexy too!**, and his own message, written on his forehead with black marker: **Gary Oldman Let's. Do. It.**

His invitation, for the whole world to see. Never mind that they'd 'done it' a hundred times before, never mind that no one would believe they were serious. It had been wild, and fun, and they'd laughed together for hours.

In the end, it all fell apart. Between Gary's habit and fervent wish for a large, 'normal' family, Tim had decided he wasn't going to be used and had retreated to the US and his own family. He knows it was the right thing to do, and he has no regrets.

Apart from the big one where he wishes none of it had ever happened.

Tim sighs. He's too tired for this. He knows he has no faith left, not in Gary, not in himself, not in love.

And yet, he came.

When he called, I came, that much is certain, Tim thinks scornfully.

So now what? Leave? Pretend that there never was a Gary Oldman, and that there never was a Tim Roth, and that they never were two sides of the same coin? He can't do that.

He knows he can't.

"Look, Tim, I'm a fuck-up. I know that. I've made a lot of mistakes, and I can't promise I won't make a lot more still, but damn it, I... well, you know."

He can't leave. Not when Gary's eyes are pleading, begging him for love and acceptance and...

Tim looks at him, really looks at him, sees the weariness and the raw need, and slowly the realization dawns that this is what he wants, he _does_ want to be here, wants to be wherever Gary is, because Gary isn't whole without him and he wants, _needs_ Gary to be whole.

He doesn't like to admit that he has a Gary-shaped hole somewhere, too.

Two sides of the same coin. It's been coming up heads for years now, because the other half was missing. Time to change all that.

"Let's go, then," he says.


End file.
